


What the neighbors would think

by theleftboobgrabber



Series: My mama don't like you [5]
Category: Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: A busy day in the High Warlock of Brooklyn's life, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Magnus vs the mundanes, Post-Season/Series 01 Finale, concerned friends overstepped boundaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6699439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleftboobgrabber/pseuds/theleftboobgrabber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Alec and the girls are busy decorating, Magnus needs to see to his High Warlock duties. That, and deal with his friends that seem set on thinking the worst of him.</p><p>(following <i>Your circle membership is showing</i> and <i>See you tonight Alexander</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	What the neighbors would think

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure: I haven't finished the infernal devices yet, so I'm greatly approximating at some point.

DeNiro is barfing in his bathroom… at hearing distance from the study, because that’s the kind of luck Magnus has. Worst, he can’t use magic outside of what his client asks of him. So he has to _endure_ the melody of an Academy Award winner emptying his guts.

Urgh… mundanes.

Magnus can’t understand those idiots. He keeps telling them that demon summoning isn’t for the faint of heart, that there is no shame in not being in the room when Magnus does the dirty (and slimy) work but the message doesn’t seem to get through their thick skulls and morbid curiosity. Magnus rolls his eyes at the idiocy of it all… Making deals with demons right and left for the sake of acting careers... But it does pay for Magnus’ Dolce & Gabbana addiction, so he can’t really bitch about it too much.

So that leaves Magnus penning DeNiro’s new contract (with an actual pen mind you, because mundanes get freak out and suspicious when he uses magic for that) with the actor’s two lawyers when his phone starts to ring.

It’s only the generic Samsung ringtone so he lets it go directly to voicemail. He tries to give his clients his full attention when he works. Therefor Magnus only drops whatever he is doing for a few special ringtones: The Institute is _Bitch better have my money_ (call Magnus petty but he’s extremely satisfied about that one); Cat spelled Magnus’ phone to play a recording of her shouting his name without asking (to his shame, he can’t seem to get rid of it even to the best of his magical abilities); Ragnor ~~is~~ was that Taylor Swift’s song he loved (Magnus can’t hear said song without breaking something now) and Raphael is _Toccata and Fugue in D minor_ (not that he knows, not that he will _ever_ know).

Which leaves Alec’s ringtone that Magnus changes everyday (it’s always a cheesy love song though, today it’s _(You Drive Me) Crazy_ ).

The problem is that his phone keeps ringing and it’s annoying for everyone. Magnus pauses his work to eye it (again) and the lawyers surveying Magnus’ work frown (again) and look at each other like they’re at _this_ to sue his ass for professional misconduct or something.

“Are you going to get that?” one of the man barks, looking pointedly at Magnus’ phone on the table. He seems ready to smash it with his fist any second now.

“Don’t you want me to finishes this up quickly or not?” Magnus asks, dropping the glamour on his eyes for dramatic effect. Mundanes like to dab with the devil but rarely are comfortable enough to look right in his demonic eyes. Both lawyers audibly gasp and the rude one stands up and slowly (like a prey) goes to the balcony, closing the french doors behind him with a bang.

Magnus huffles. It’s a cheap trick but it gets him what he needs every time. And reminds everyone who is the centuries-old magical being.

The second lawyer, the one still sitting across from Magnus, is sweating nervously.

“Why don’t we take a break? I’m… I'm gonna go and check on my client and you can... “ he gestures weakly at the phone.

Magnus rolls his eyes, finishes the sentence he’s writing and puts to pen down soundly. The lawyer breaths out and relaxes, standing up and going straight where the retching sounds came from earlier.

 _Mundanes_.

 

*****

Magnus finally takes his still ringing phone in hand and looks at the screen. It’s Clary.

Shit.

“Biscuit?” he answers, now worried. He should have pick a special ringtone just for her a while ago with all the trouble she usually brings to him.

“Magnus! Finally. I’ve been calling you for hours,” she accuses.

Magnus rolls his eyes at this... always with the exaggeration those kids.

“I’m _busy_. So unless this is urgent, I’ll have to ask you to stop calling until I’m free,” he says as he stands up, eager to stretch his legs a bit after an hour or so of sitting down like a idiot. His right hand is cramping from writing so much. Really, contracts are way easier to deal with when he can just wave his hand above a piece of paper and work his binding magic in it.

“It’s important… ish. Don’t hang up!” Clary pleads but Magnus hears some kind of muffled struggle on the other side.

“Hey Magnus! Do you like chicken?” Izzy asks, apropos of nothing.

“You guys called me for… Chicken? Put Alexander on the phone, obviously his babysitting skills are far from perfect,” he demands, annoyed.

“I’ll have you know that my brother is _really good_ with kids, Magnus,” she shoots back, and Magnus can’t help but to feel like she’s saying something else at the same time.

“Izzy.” After a deep breath he adds “The point of this call?”

“We’re grocery shopping. There was nothing to eat at your place and while a _nourishment_ rune is a good last resort, I doubt Alec is going to be happy with never eating for the rest of his life when you’re not around. Because he’s like a bear. A very hungry bear. He hides sweets in his bedroom all the time so our tutors don’t know he’s not following his diet. Like a bear,” Izzy rants, sounding fond of her brother’s quirks.

“ _For the rest of his life when you’re not around_.” resonates in Magnus’ mind, though. He tries to remain calm at what Izzy just implied because if he lets his mind go there (Alec and him staying together for that long) he’ll just get stuck and won’t be able to function for the rest of the day.

“Magnus?”

“Uh?” Shit he needs to stop spacing out like this.

“You just went really quiet… You’re okay?” Izzy asks, concern clear in her voice. “Alec said you were fine and all, but that meeting with our parents must have been trying for you too.”

“Yes, it was,” he concedes, touched that she cares. “And yes, I do love chicken if it’s nicely prepared. Good thinking with the grocery shopping, though... I didn’t realized that my loft was so… unfriendly for a non-warlock this morning.” He hears the girls laughing and can’t help but smile. “I take that Alexander isn’t with you?” He asks, sticking the phone between his shoulder and ear so he can massage his aching wrist as he walks around the room.

“Nope. We left him mooning around the loft so he can hopefully finish the ceiling while we’re being productive,” Clary coos, voice a bit lower than Izzy. Magnus chuckles at the image of the two girls, walking around a shop with Clary’s phone on speaker mode, completely uncaring how loud they can be.

“Again, good thinking. So you just called to know my preferences food-wise?” he can’t even be mad. Talking to them, even about such an inane subject, gets his mood up. Too much mundane absurdity will do that to the strongest mind.

“Actually I’m calling on Simon’s behalf,” Clary blurts quickly.

“What does your friend needs?” Magnus didn’t expected that. His dealings with Simon have been short and unimportant. Magnus can’t fathom what the newly turned vampire could need from him.

“Well, right now he’s staying at Luke’s under his protection but… The other werewolves aren’t that crazy about it. And then there is the blood issue,” explains Clary, now serious.

“And the fact that Simon is missing Raphael like crazy, for some reason,” Izzy chirps in, sounding unsure if the situation is funny or not. Magnus is almost certain that Alec complained about this very issue at some point last week… Just before sucking a hickey the size of New Zealand on Magnus’ neck. So Magnus might be wrong, it’s not like he had any brain power left after that.

“I’m not involving myself in vampire political shenanigans…” he begins. Raphael is already pissed at Magnus for helping the shadowhunters so much (and Magnus’ involvement with Camille escaping her punishment scott free isn’t helping). Worst, he’s not the only one...

“Why not?” half shouts Clary on the phone, at the same time Isabelle asks in the background “How many boxes of condoms should I put in the cart?”

What Magnus wants to say is “I don't meddle in Raphael’s life. Especially not for money.” but what he actually answers is “I can’t get your brother pregnant, Izzy.” in an outraged voice, stopping his pacing around. It’s a good thing the lawyers haven’t return yet or _that_ would have been awkward.

There is a moment of silence on the other end, but finally Isabelle says very quietly “Anyway I'm too young to be an aunt…  who knows. Better be safe than have Alec whines later because he lost his abs or something.”

“You are a medical professional Isabelle!” Clary interjects, probably as shocked as Magnus is.

“As I said, who knows,” Izzy continues, unfazed by the weirdness of the conversation, before adding “Better take more than one.”

“Anyway... you have to help Simon, Magnus,” Clary begs stubbornly, bravely ignoring the weird interruption.

“No can do, biscuit. Your friend will have to grovel at Raphael’s feet by himself,” Magnus firmly says.

“But…”

“No, Clary,” he cuts her with a forbidding voice. He needs to draw the limit clearly now or they’ll run to him every time they stub their toes. Which they already do, but one can hope that a negative precedent will deter them in the future.

“I think it’s for the best. Simon can’t regain Raphael’s trust by asking help from two shadowhunters and hiring a warlock. It would only remind him that Simon is a walking conflict of interests.”

“Thank you, Isabelle,” says Magnus, grateful for her input this time. Magnus sways on his feet, looking at the balcony where the lawyer that fled him is now fidgeting with his watch. “Hey girls, not that I don’t appreciate talking to you but I’m on the clock here. I’ll see you tonight at the loft.”

“Bye Magnus! Don’t do anything I’ll have to arrest you for!” cheers Izzy.

“See you later…” Clary mumbles meekly, obviously dejected at his refusal to help Simon.

Magnus chuckles and sets the phone down just as the second lawyer brings back a sightly green DeNiro. The actor is looking at the (pristine) study like he expects the slim, burn marks and smell of sulfur to still be there. Like Magnus could be comfortable not cleaning after the demon and staying in the disgusting room.

_Mundanes._

 

*****

Magnus is fucking done with mundanes for the day and it’s only noon. And he has appointments until 5 pm, then he wants to look at the first new safe house for the Institute and he probably should check on Tessa to get a feel of the mood in the Spiral Labyrinth. And then… Then he get to go home to his boyfriend (he has a boyfriend, a real boyfriend that is going to live with him for the foreseeable future and Magnus would be lying if he said the concept wasn’t a bit daunting. Beautifully so).

That’s why he treats himself with a 4 courses meal at DANIEL so he can be pampered a bit while eating ludicrously good food (magicking his name on the reservation list is something he has no shame about).

He flops down ungracefully in one of the chair at the table the Maître d’Hôtel led him to and breathes out, fingers massaging his temples. Sometimes he wonders why he even bothers with his clients… They’re so _ungrateful._ Probably as much as the majority of the nephilims. He huffs. Alexander effortlessly pinpointed the exact reason this morning. Magnus is a shark, he needs the rackus, the constant motion and new faces or he’ll have too much time on his hands to think. And when Magnus does that, he usually ends up dead drunk in a completely different country without meaning to.

He sighs, opening the menu. No alcohol today.

Ragnor’s death would probably have been dealt with this way if it wasn’t from more pressing matters (i.e. Valentines and that motherfucking Cup. The impending racist backlash the downworlders are facing from the Clave. Jocelyn’s health. And of course, Alexander).

His phone beeps, signaling a new message. His frowns at first, closing the menu impatiently, unwilling to deal with any new disaster but his budding headache disappears when he sees the sender’s name.

**< < Izzy is taking over your kitchen and by the looks of it she’s in a mood for cooking. Try to be emotionally prepared for that culinary disaster.**

Magnus smiles and quickly shoots a text back. Really, he wishes he could just cancel everything and get back to his loft, where his _boyfriend_ is settling in.

**> > I’ll snap some edible food for us while she isn’t looking.**

He’s in a middle of typing an second one ( _how is the decorating coming up?_ ) when someone sits in the opposing chair without warning. He looks up, ready to make the intruder go away when he recognizes the person’s face.

“Cat? What are you doing here?” To say that he is surprised would an understatement. Floored. Shocked. Awestrucked? Cat coming to _him_ is that rare these days.

Her hair has been cropped short since the last time they spoke face to face (practicality has always been Catarina’s mantra) and she looks so exhausted that he is overcome with the need to hug her. Not that she would let him, but still, the impulse is here. Even half asleep Catarina Loss could probably kick his ass to the moon. Or Pluto.

“Tracked you here. I’m a bit concerned that it was so easy to do so, by the way,” she says dryly as she shrugs her coat off to reveal a gold cashmere sweater. Magnus squints his eyes at it. He’s positive that it’s one of his but doesn’t comment on the obvious theft. It’s better on her anyway.

“Well I wasn’t expecting that someone would stalk me instead of, I don’t know, call me,” he retorts, looking back at her face. She rolls her eyes but Magnus is fluent in Cat’s “You’re a loon in need of a nanny” expressions. She isn’t happy with him that much is clear. “But it’s nice of you to get back to me this quickly… to be honest I’m a bit freak out,” he confesses nevertheless.

“I would too if someone was after me,” she agrees as she begins to tear apart a piece of bread, eyeing their surrounding like she expects an attack.

What.

“What are you talking about?” Magnus asks, frantically looking around. What the hell.

“Damian being out for your blood,” she clarifies, worry obvious on her face.

“Oh, that.” Shit… Magnus hoped that the incident from two weeks ago wouldn’t have make it to the gossip grapevine since Magnus humiliated the other warlock. “You didn’t see my text? Alexander is moving in today!” he poorly tries to change the subject.

Catarina glares at him like he lost his mind (it wouldn’t be the first time).

“Your shadowhunter? You can’t be serious... Raphael told me about him,” she dismisses with a hand wave, like the most interesting thing to happen to Magnus in a decade (scratch that and make that two) is of no consequence.

“Raph… Wait how long have you been ignoring my texts?” Magnus bristles.

“I don’t know, a while. You never texts when it’s important and I’ve work to do.”

“But you obviously have time for Raphael and his gossip!” he counters with venom, offended now he has confirmation that Cat isn’t paying attention to him that much. Nothing like friends talking behind your back to rile you up.

“Raphael makes sense most of the time” She accuses. “He alluded that you seduced the Lightwood kid to piss off his parents. Which, even if I would love to see that bitch on fire as well her witless husband, I am strongly disapproving. The kid is innocent in this, Magnus.”

“Oh my God… why… you think I’m with Alexander to get back at Maryse and Robert?” Coming from Camille, he would expect a behavior like that. But his friends… thinking that of him? Talk about messed up.

“Raphael seemed confused too about that… didn’t think it was your style but really… what else could motivate you to risk your life and reputation for a _shadowhunter_?”

“You know what? Raphael is dead to me. Better,” he raises one finger at Cat and texts Clary quickly.

**< < OPERATION GETS SALMON BACK INTO RAPHAEL GOOD GRACES IS A GO…TELL YOUR BOY TOY TO PREPARE HIS A-GAME WHINING. I’LL PICK SOME BRIBERY FROM MARK JACOBS ON MY WAY HOME**

**< < also make it clear to him that HE FUCKING OWES ME**

**< < and so do you biscuit**

Magnus is going to make Raphael’s life a living hell by sending the Great Jacket Destroyer back to him. And having an informant in the Interim Chapter President’s entourage could be useful in the future. He puts his phone on mute and pockets it, unwilling to deal with the onslaught of gratefulness that Clary better send his way.

“I suppose that we were wrong to think so callously of you?” Catarina has the decency to sound sheepish.

“You bet your ass you were,” he says morosely. “First Damian, now this… Some friends I have.” He downs a glass of water, trying hard to remain calm.

“So you do know about Damian,” she points, getting right back to what she is apparently here to discuss, to Magnus’ disappointment.

Magnus fidgets a bit on his chair, uncomfortable.

“He made his displeasure known two weeks ago… Actually tried to poison me before deciding that a more direct approach might be more successful. It wasn’t,” Magnus relates.

“And still you let the shadowhunter into your home,” Catarina sounds amazed at Magnus’ lack of self preservation.

“I didn’t know I had to fill in a request form before doing anything with my boyfriend!” he nearly shouts. Magnus breaths heavily, getting madder won't help. “And Damian accusations were ridiculous anyway. He’s been angling at my title for years… the bastard just grasped at the first bullshit reason he could found.”

“But you have spent a lot of times with shadowhunters recently, Magnus. You can’t deny that. There is talk that you might forget who your people truly are.”

“Jesus Cat! Are you going to call me a _pet warlock_ too?” he all but spits, masking his hurt with anger. “Because you can check, I don’t have a collar on.” Magnus can see a waiter, obviously unwilling to interrupt their argument, on the edge of his vision. Damn it. He’s supposed to be here to relax, not to face the Spanish Inquisition.

“The concern is legitimate. You and Tessa were always so fond of shadowhunters…”

“Being married to one never blinded Tessa to their failings as a whole… Or cut her off from us. I don’t know why you think I’ll be any different.” He realizes too late he just implied that dating Alec is as important as Tessa marrying Will. He closes his eyes for a second, willing away the thought. Now isn’t the time for wishful thinking.

“I don’t actually think you would. Go native that is. You’re too smart to think that fucking a shadowhunter makes you worthy of respect in their eyes...” She cringes at her own words and it’s the only thing that stops Magnus from setting the table on fire. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be this harsh. I’m just concern. Between Morgenstern getting the Mortal Cup and Ragnor... “ She looks so small then that Magnus feels his anger diminish. A bit. She’s staring at her empty hands, at the mess of bread crumbs she made on the table.

“I understand. I won’t be taken off guard again. Damian thought he could prove himself a better warlock than I am. Look where it got him.” Broken bones and horns, depleted magic and pride in pieces. Catarina doesn’t need to know that it was a closer call that Magnus lets on, how tired he was after the fight, barely able to portal to the Institute because Jocelyn needed him.

“Does your little shadowhunter knows?”

“That he’s not the only one wanting a piece of this? No… I don’t think he should worry about that right now. He defended me against _his parents_ this morning. Truly, he defended all of us. Alexander would take the guilt in his heart and never let go of it.” Magnus doesn’t want to be the one burdening Alec more than he already is.

“You saw the Lightwoods earlier? Uh… that explains why you look so…” She eyes him carefully, slowly, like she’s reevaluating something and looking at the right word. “Well. _Tamed_ seems an understatement. Your clothes, your makeup. It’s not very you.” It’s clear that she attributes his subdued appearance to Alec. Or at least their relationship.

Magnus can’t help but laugh.

“He made the same observation this morning. Said it was “unacceptable” if I recall correctly,” he explains after seeing the startled look Cat gives him at his outburst. Damn Alec for being so stupidly kind.

“At least he cares about you,” she acknowledges with a small nod.

“He does.” And in that moment, Magnus’ mind clears. Alexander _does_ care about him. Not just because he’s hot, not because he’s the first man to _see him_ and want him. The shadowhunter actually expressed distress over Magnus getting hurt by their relationship, by his mortality rather than the other way around. Alexander Gideon Lightwood cares about him. Just because.

Magnus smiles. Suddenly he knows that it will be worth it. That wherever they go from here will be real. That whatever they become, enough.

“Could you stop that? Going all glazed eyes and sappy I mean. How can you be so flippant about this? Your life is in danger.”

“Oh I get that… I knew what the High Warlock position would get me when I took it… I just hoped it would actually give me more than a massive headache when one of us screws up and I have to deal with the mess.”

“Or your own people would actually fight you for it?”

“All I ever did was to protect us. Every job I accepted with the Institute, every comment I had swallow from shadowhunters… And Damian dares call me out when I do that one little thing for myself,” he ponders, half aware of the tears that are gathering in his eyes. He turns his face to the side, too prideful to let Cat see them. “We should order, the waiter is getting impatient… If you’re staying that is.”

“Sure… I could eat. You’re paying though, I don’t make as much as you do to lunch in a place like this,” she agrees, giving him a small smile like a peace offering.

Magnus gestures at the waiter and orders quickly (he’s feeling like Roasted Canard and asks for a bottle of Pellegrino to keep his meal alcohol-free) while Cat barely looks at the menu before asking for Rouget and a bottle of Beaujolais. Obviously it’s been a long morning for her too if she’s mixing fish and red wine like a heathen.

Once the waiter is gone the silence is too much for Magnus and he can’t stop himself from continuing the conversation.

“Listen Cat. I’m not telling you that my relationship with Alexander isn’t a complication. For any of us. It’s not like I’m under the impression that the Clave will let this slide when they find the time to care. But I can’t stop living now that I actually have a great reason to get up in the morning. Don’t ask that of me,” he implores her.

"And when he’s old and grey or dead... What happen to you when you can’t get out of bed?” she counters. Her tone is gentle but Magnus flinches, the words striking him as painfully as a seraph blade would.  

"We talked about it... dreadful first date, really," he says as an attempt at humor. Even to his own ears he doesn't sound very convincing. "I like him. He likes me. We both want to see where it leads."

"Tessa would say heartbreak. And so would I."

“Well, you want me to stop trying to be happy?” he challenges.

“No, of course not. I just want you to be careful,” she answers and her expression tells Magnus that she already knows that it’s a lost cause.

 

*****

Magnus is baffled by the ugliness of the brownstone the second he gets out of the taxi and sets his eyes on the house. It’s painted a terrible shade of green-brown that catches the light of the late afternoon and it just stings to look at it. Really he’s going to do a favor to all residents of Halsey Street, Bed-Stuy when he glamours it into a nice and unwelcoming empty lot.

He takes out of his pocket the house key that was attached in the binder Robert gave him earlier and casts his invisibility glamour before crossing the street, mindful that his presence here could be suspicious to any downworlder or Circles member spying around. Precaution, always. He all but runs up the stairs (every day is leg day) and opens the door swiftly.

His nose is immediately assaulted by the smell. Magnus makes a face and conjures the rot-filled air away before he steps inside. No need to make himself sick for no reason, so it’s worth the energy. He closes the door after a last look in the street and put his leather messenger bag on the old entry way console. It promptly cracks under the weight and the content of his bag spills on the dusty floor, now a mess of candles, chalks and papers.

His headache is coming back.

Magnus snaps his fingers angrily (reflexively) and everything is back to its place in an instant, even the dust. Shit. He shouldn't use his magic so wastefully if he’s going to glamour the house and start on the wards. That’s why he’s carrying so much clutter around this days. Because he doesn't know when he’s going to be attacked by someone (be it one of Valentine’s minion or someone Magnus’ calls a friend) and needs great amount of magic to defend himself. He entertains the idea of giving up for the day and going home right now for a good minute before taking his phone out.

He ignores the 13 messages from Clary ( _attagirl_ ), unmute the phone and opens his conversation with Alec. His unfinished message from lunch is saved here. Magnus erases it and types a new one.

**> > Would you hate me forever if I kidnapped you and we went to Greece for a week?**

It’s a bit whiny but Magnus sends it anyway as he settles on the dirty floor, back resting on the wall. He hates the clothes he’s wearing so it’s okay, they're so boring. He felt like an empty shell this morning when he dressed in the white shirt and the grey suit.

He occupies himself with drawing shapeless lines in the dust before Alec answers him.

**< < you don’t sound okay. Where are you?**

Magnus stares at the screen for a while, mindlessly continuing his doodling, not that surprise at the bluntness of his boyfriend.

**> > Just tired, don’t worry angel.**

**< < Then come home Magnus. **

Magnus feels warm at this. So fucking warm. He can’t believe he actually considered his loft a _home_ before today.

**> > I will.**

**> > Soon.**

He pauses. He wants to express his affection, but the words just don’t come out right. “XO” is just too ridiculous (and Alec might not understand that) and “I love you” would be a lie (at least for now. Magnus knows that it won’t be one in the future). He settles for “Thank you” but Alec texts him again before he can.

**< < I miss you :)**

He laughs. Alexander is a blessing, Magnus will fight anyone on that.

**> > I miss you too**

The warlock answers then, because it’s true. It’s the truest thing he knows right now.

He rises slowly and rolls his neck from side to side, trying to work out the tension in his muscles. Magnus makes a mental note to to book an appointment at his favored spa. An image of Alec’s big capable hands covered in oil pops into Magnus’ mind immediately. With some luck the younger man is good at massages and Magnus sighs at the thought. Now that’s something he definitively needs to investigate. Perhaps even propose his services to gauge Alec’s receptiveness to the idea… And right there his mind goes to the gutter and his pulse races, as always when he thinks of Alec shirtless, or Raziel forbid, Alec _naked_.

He needs to count to ten (twice) to regain some control on his thoughts and while he’s dusting his clothes he nearly misses the little heart shapes he apparently made in the dust without realizing it when he was texting Alexander.

He’s fucked. Getting sexy thoughts out of his head is one thing. Getting rid of the butterflies in his stomach is probably impossible. Magnus resigns himself at a future filled with cute texts and happy sighs with a chuckle, looking around for the basement door he saw on the house blueprints when he was studying it in the taxi.

Time to earn some money and be a productive High Warlock and not a sappy loves-truck pup.

Right.

 

*****

Magnus steps back, looking at the corner stone ward he just finished tracing in the air with a critical eye. It’s perfectly balanced and placed at the true center of the house, glowing with so much blue fire in its lignes that Magnus is nearly blinded by it. At least that’s done, he thinks as he pass his silk handkerchief on his forehead, wiping the sweat away. He checks his phone and swears at the time. It’s well past 9 pm.

He didn’t meant taking this long for the little amount of work he accomplished but the glamour was tricky to apply because of the telluric current that passes close to the house. The natural magnetic energy kept disrupting his illusions, until Magnus took a risk and decided to link the spells to the current itself, using it to power them more efficiently. He had done the same with the corner stone ward afterwards, making it extremely powerful. A protective net would have been less time consuming to cast but would have needed constant touch up and maintenance because telluric current aren’t that stable to begin with. Micro fluctuations would strain the net before long and with it, the glamour and warding would weaken considerably.

But with Magnus’ smart construct in place, not only the spells would self-regulate to the current, they would perfectly match its power signature, making a seamless loop of energy rather than the usual blindspot the classic method leaves behind. The house will be invisible to everyone when the warding is done. It’s a shame that those telluric currents are such a pain in the ass to work with and so few in big cities now or Magnus would piggy back them all the time.

Anyway the warding on this house will go smoothly  now and Magnus thinks that he will be able to make it as efficient as the one in the Institute without any real effort on his part.

But that will have to wait because making that one connection has been taxing enough. Not that Magnus reserves are spent but he knows he has to slow down with the magical miracles if he wants to be ready to face any bad surprise…

Shit. He wanted to check on Tessa. Oh well… he’ll send her a fire message tomorrow. He’s too tired for drama now.

He gather his stuff back (manually) and stretches his limbs, salivating at the prospect of a hot bath and his bed. And Alexander.

Magnus orders a taxi from his Uber app and leaves the house, not fond of the idea of walking the four miles between here and his loft. He settles on the steps of the brownstone, still protected by the glamour of the house, waiting patiently for his ride home. Unfortunately it’s way colder outside than he anticipated. He could cancel his taxi and make a portal but, again, he’s trying to be less wasteful with his magic.

What a day.

 

*****

Magnus falls into a light slumber when his taxi is caught in traffic. Of course it is. How do mundanes even do this things every damn day? Walk, wait, the cold, wait again some more. It’s so... numbing.

His phone beeps and he checks it in a haze, eyes half shut..

**< < Some vampires made a play against our blood shipment. We got it out the sole survivor that he was sent by Camille.**

Raphael’s text is like cold water thrown at his face, though the warlock can’t decide if it a purely informative message or if his friend is trying to guilt trip him because he let Camille go. Magnus types his answer and sends it before remembering that he’s pissed at Raphael. Unfortunately High Warlock duties tramp hurt feelings.

**> > As long as no mundane is hurt, the Clave won’t do a thing.**

It’s sad but it’s true. The Clave would be more likely to encourage downworlders killing one another than to help in territory disputes. Even if it was in their interest.

**< < I’m not asking for the nephilims’ help. I’m asking for yours.**

Well Magnus can’t fault him for that.

**> > I’ve tried tracking her. She protected herself.**

**> > I’ll give it another go.**

**< < Good.**

Raphael doesn’t send anything else and Magnus sighs. It’s like everyone he knows and loves (or used to) is set on making his day a fucking trial. The worst is that he doesn’t have that much people left now that Ragnor was murdered. Cat and Tessa are long friends of his, so he assumed they’ll stick together forever, no matter what. Raphael is more recent relationship, but still. Magnus can’t lose anyone else. Especially not now there’s a war, now that they’re all in danger because the Clave couldn’t control their own little Hitler.

Magnus might have a lot of acquaintances, but he doesn’t have many friends.  

After Camille, Magnus closed himself off, made walls inside his chest to protect his heart against people. Raphael was Magnus first new friend in a hundred years, but Alec… When he told Alexander that he unlocked something in him, Magnus was being quite literal. Magic had not been involved, but a rigorous discipline in restrain, of self-control had made Magnus impervious to romantic attachment for 138 years.

It’s probably why he was so insistent about his liking of the young shadowhunter. Perhaps it was a sign that he should have run the other way, but Alec’s pull on him had been too strong, his kindness too disarming to fight against. Especially after the glimpse he had of his soul when Alexander shared his live force with Magnus (a warlock!) to save Luke (a werewolf!). Because Alec was terribly human and real. Because Alec was Alec.

Magnus had been helpless, walls falling down and not rebuilding themselves fast enough, crumbling at the barest hint of Alexander’s eyes on him. How scary it had been to set himself up for disaster when he walked in that church. His magic coursing through his veins, responding to his panic when Alexander had taken those fateful steps towards him. Magnus had been so sure he was going to be manhandled out of the Institute or punched in the face right in front of everyone, humiliated like he had been countless time before.

The kiss that he received instead is still vivid in his mind.

He closes his eyes, replaying it in his mind for the thousandth time since it happened, as one would do with a life changing event.

Somewhere in heaven, Will Herondale might be winking at him. The little fucker had been right.

138 years ago, Magnus tried to kill himself. Or rather he got so drunk and high after Camille left him behind and broke his heart that going on the rooftop of the London Institute had seemed like the greatest idea since the first importation of Vodka in the United Kingdom.

The night had been lovely, Ragnor and Camille smiling and joking and drinking around like the crisis the shadow world was going through at the time was a simple annoyance. Magnus had been laughing too, uncaring. Too damn happy that Camille came back to him from her exile in Russia.

While she was gone, he had saw to his duties, had been a good little _pet warlock_ for the shadowhunters all year, helping around Henry’s lab, mentoring Tessa and her boy troubles, patiently taking the crass comments from Benedict Lightwood because he had to play nice and he fucking helped Will Herondale get his _curse_ (what a sick joke) lifted. He had enough. No more shadowhunters, no more nonsense.

That night he had planned to ask Camille to marry him. To spent their eternity together and run away from the rest of the shadow world for a decade or three. Because that was the deal right? Warlocks had to withstand all that death around them, all the misery and loneliness until they found someone that shared the same fate. Someone that they could love and would love them in return. Someone they could be happy with.

Magnus had naively thought that that person had been Camille Belcourt.

He fidgets on the backseat of the taxi, still embarrassed at his behavior after all those years.

If only he had had enough time to took out his ring (the ring he bought months before)... He kept wandering for the longest time what would have happen then. But Camille had turn towards him and Ragnor after the photograph they had just posed for and told them easily, with a charming smile on her face “I must be going now, my paramour is waiting for me at home.” Magnus had been too stunned to move, to say anything, to breath even. She had pecked lightly him on the cheek, like a favored friend, and winked at Ragnor and was gone in an instant, like he meant nothing to her. Like he hadn't been waiting for her for months, faithfully counting the days until she could come back.

Ragnor had frantically tried to calm him down, to make him see that it wasn’t _him._ But Magnus had been too hurt, too stubborn in his conviction that Camille was the one. He had portaled himself away from his friend and drank until he couldn’t, drank until the pernicious thoughts began to chip his painfully acquired self-esteem away, attacking his pride and bringing to the surface the feeling of unworthiness, the very conviction that his soul was to ugly to love. Forcing him to face the feelings he buried deep inside since the day his step-father tried to drown him.

He doesn’t quite recall how he got to the Institute roof. Just walking precariously on the ledge, singing and swinging in the wind.

“Magnus! I beg of you! Drop the spell and let us get you inside!” Tessa cried, banging her fists against the invisible barrier he had built so he could contemplate his fall in peace.

“Magnus! Please… don’t do this.” Ragnor had been somewhat calmer, far too focus on breaking his spell than on convincing him with words and pleas.

Magnus had laughed and sang louder, mind looping back to Camille’s smile and the way she dismissed him without a second of hesitation.

“Why doesn't anyone like my singing?” he complained at no one in particular, trying to remember the words of the french national anthem.

“Because you sing as off key as a dying donkey.” Magnus turned around so fast, startled at the new voice, that he nearly fell over. Will fucking Herondale was standing in all his glory near the roof trapdoor, his pristine white shirt standing out in the dark like a beacon of hypocrisy.

“You might have,” Magnus burped, ”angel blood but you don’t sing like one.” He said. He had drunk too many times with Will over the past few months to ignore his talent at butchering anything with a tune.

“Then I’m perhaps concern of what the neighbors will think of hearing a drunkard singing without being able to catch him to shut him up.”

Magnus rolled his eyes, lowering himself carefully on the ledge so he could balance his feet in the air. He was so damn tired.

“Go away. All of you… it’s not like you care.”

“I sure don’t. Just got up here to fetch Tessa,” Will said, seemingly as uncaring as he claimed. “Charlotte is asking for you downstairs.”

“She will have to…”

“It’s about Nate.” Oh the clever bastard. Even drunk, Magnus could saw what he was doing.

Magnus didn’t need to turn his face. Tessa swore loudly and run to the trapdoor, loudly climbing the ladder down.

“Now. You’re going to drop the spell and step back from certain death,” Will ordered him.

Magnus laughed and stretched out on the ledge. A roll on the left and the fall would kill him. He wondered if his father would be there to welcome him in Hell. He shrugged the thoughts and tried to take a swig at his vodka bottle but poured most of it on his face. It mixed with his tears, stinging his eyes like liquid fire.

“Magnus. Don’t do this.”

“Why? I don’t want to be miserable all my very, _very_ long life.”

“That’s what I believed too. And you proved me wrong. You helped me. Let me help you now.”

Magnus turned his face to the right. Will was standing where Tessa had been, hands in his pockets. He had dropped his devil-may-care mask off and Magnus sniffled at how opened and young the shadowhunter looked like this. Magnus had disliked him at first because of his attitude, then learn to care about him. They had been both in the same strange position,  foreigners. Magnus because of his demon blood, Will because of whom his father had married, breaking the Clave laws. Both shunned in different ways. Both understanding each others.

“Bring her back,” Magnus pleaded, knowing that it was impossible.

“I can’t do that,” Will crouched to be at eye level with Magnus, “firstly, because Camille is poison. She would hurt you again and again until there is nothing left. Secondly, she is her own person. I can’t force her to feel what you feel.”

Magnus sneered. “Well you do have experience with women picking someone else over you, don’t you,” he said viciously, willing to hurt Will as much as he could in order to make him go away. He didn’t want his friends to see him like this. Standing next to Will, Ragnor was still trying to break his spell, mumbling under his breath. Magnus needed more alcohol.

“You’re right. And what did you tell me? To hang on a little longer. To fight on. To hope. Take your own advice  _goddammit,_ ” Will screamed at him.

“Your god damned me already, William,” Magnus murmured, more to himself than for the others. “Whatever I do…”

“For fuck sake man, get a grip. You’re actually going to jump to your death because Camille Belcourt got bored?”

Magnus didn’t have anything to answer to that. Through the haze of alcohol and opium he knew this was stupid. He just couldn’t see a way out.

“One day someone is going to love you, Magnus. To love you with all their heart and they’ll pick you, every time a choice will come up they’ll pick _you_ and they’re going to make you so happy. You just have to wait a bit. To love yourself, to value your life enough and not jump. Not now, not in ten years, not in a hundred, if it take that long for them to find you. You have to accept that Magnus. You’re worthy of being loved. No matter what you think, no matter what game Camille plays, you are worthy of happiness. Please, drop the spell and let us get you inside. I’m freezing my balls off here,” Will pleaded, un-shaded tears in his eyes.

Magnus sobbed loudly and let himself fall on the right side of the ledge, on the roof. Thought the mess of tears and panicked intake of breath he was distantly aware of hands carrying him and Ragnor gently saying his name over and over again until he fell asleep.

The morning after had...

“Mister?! Hey! We’re here,” the driver shouts. Magnus can guess by his tone and annoyed face that it isn’t the first time he tries to get his attention.

This isn’t the kind of daydream Magnus usually get trapped into these days.

He smiles his excuse and pays the driver before getting out the car. The temperature didn’t improve while they were driving. Magnus asks himself derisively if he should begin to carry an extra coat now that he’s abstaining from using his magic carelessly as he runs as fast as possible to the front door of his building.

Once inside, he checks himself out in the metal panel of the broken down elevator. He looks (by his standards) like a idiot. A messy, tired idiot. Worst, he looks like a mundane.

With Magnus’ luck, Alexander will be repelled by his appearance and runs back to his parents.

God, he hopes not.

 

*****

When Magnus reaches his floor, he frowns.

There’s loud music coming from his loft and it’s obnoxiously loud. Ibiza boat-party loud.

The fact that it’s _Let it go_ from that Disney movie is more worrying though (Magnus doesn’t like that song. Or that movie in general. He’s a Disney Renaissance fan, like everyone with actual _taste_ ). He’s pretty sure someone is singing along, but he can’t quite place the voice.

He quietly opens his door and closes it the same way, unwilling to disturb the shadowhunters when he gets a chance to scare them to death when he appears out of nowhere during their impromptu karaoke session. He shrugs his suit jacket and take his shoes off quickly, tip toeing in the entry way towards the door leading to the living room.

He’s not sure of what he’s seeing at first.

Salmon Lewis, aka the Great Jacket Destroyer, aka Clary’s boy toy, aka his new client is standing on Magnus’ coffee table with _his fucking shoes on_ , singing along with a decent voice, his phone like it’s a mic. The kid is very into it and it horrifies Magnus beyond reason. Better send this to Raphael as soon as possible and make sure the doors are lock from now on.

Isabelle and Clary are watching him with a twin air of shock on their face. Surprisingly Alexander is the only one that seem to enjoy the performance,head swaying with the music.

Magnus needs to mentally slap himself not to coo at his boyfriend. He’s too endearing for his own good.

Magnus props himself against the wall, fascinated by the scene, forgetting his plan to scare the teenagers. This is a sign of him mellowing with age, he’s sure of it. He quenches the need to send a funny text about it to Cat.

On the table, Salmon finishes his act with a bow and it’s only when he looks up from it that he catches sight of Magnus leaning on the wall. Three shadowhunters and a vampire in the room and none of them felt his presence. They’re all doomed.

“Ah! Magnus! I mean… Mr. Bane…” The vampire jumps around in surprise and fall on the floor. He yelps. Sounds painful.

The three others turns their heads towards him, as surprise as their friend.

Alexander is the first to react (big smile widening when he catches Magnus’ eyes) and he stands up, crossing the living room in big, purposeful strides (sexy without even trying) and envelops Magnus in a bear hug, rubbing the side of his face on the top of Magnus’ head, peppering it with small kisses.

“You and I have very different concept of what the word “soon” means,” the shadowhunter gently points out after taking a long intake of breath. Magnus bits the interior of his cheek to stop himself from giggling when he realizes that Alexander his smelling him. Magnus does smell good most of the time when he’s not in mortal danger. And it might just be an illusion, the wish of a hopeful idiot, but Magnus feels safer than he had in years in his boyfriend’s arm.

Alexander pushes him a bit away and Magnus is not ashamed that he mourns the contact, even if it’s clear that Alec just wanted to look at him in the eyes. Magnus is a bit self-conscious about his looks ( _vain vain vain_ ) but he smiles to compensate the tiredness that must be easy to spot on him. Alec cups Magnus’ face in one of his big hand and give him a small kiss on the corner of his lips, just to say hello, as he always does.

“Welcome home, Magnus,” he says, voice low enough that Magnus is the only one to hear. It doesn’t stop the eagerness in Alec’s tone to obvious. Like he’s been waiting all day to say those words.

It’s alright. Magnus been waiting forever to hear them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this!  
> I'm theleftboobgrabber on tumblr, so don't hesitate to come talk to me if you want ;)
> 
> If you loved it, kudos and comments are ALWAYS a good way to show it, or consider buying me a [coffee](http://ko-fi.com/theleftboobgrabber/)!


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